Taste the Freedom
by The Scratch Man
Summary: When Nikita dies, it's up to Michael and Birkhoff to carry on her mission. First mission? Operation Riverwood. As Michael learns to accept Nikita's death, he and Birkhoff grow closer. SLASH. Rated to be safe. S1E22 Spoiler.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own 'Nikita' or any of the characters.**

**A/N: Oh no she DIDN'T. Well, actually, yes, she did. I present to you a Mirkhoff fic. Or a mild Mirkhoff fic, anyway.**

…**I must be on something. Anyhoo, I've been seeing a few people on various sites complain about how there aren't any Mirkhoff fanfics. I suspect that people saw the potential slash in 1.22 when Birkhoff frees Michael, but I saw it from the beginning. So here we are. PLEASE DON'T HATE ON ME! *Cowers***

**P.S: Mild Alex-bashing. I don't understand why everyone likes HER and hates Ryan Fletcher. That dude is beast!**

**Summary: Nikita really did die, and Percy actually does convince Alex to side with Division ("We're just the weapon"). This takes place after Birkhoff and Michael's initial "you're a coward" conversation in the basement. Let's assume that instead of Amanda torturing her, Percy and Alex were debriefing or something. AU fic.**

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><p>Birkhoff watched Alex and Percy step out of the latter's office and watched the man clap her on the shoulder and say something; "Good word, agent." Birkhoff read off Percy's lips.<p>

Alex nodded and then turned, and for a moment, her pale blue eyes met the hacker's brown ones. Her expression didn't change at all –not even to acknowledge his stare.

Then she turned on her heel and went down the hall.

Percy watched her leave before he looked sideways to notice Birkhoff standing there. "Is it important?"

"What're we going to do with Michael?" Birkhoff answered with a question instead. He held his breath nervously. He had always been wary of Percy, but after Alex had been recruited, he had grown the habit of tensing up, too. It might have had something to do with the time he had been accused of being Nikki's mole and Percy had almost ordered his cancelation.

Percy stared at Birkhoff with a critical eye for a moment before shrugging and making that "I'm so innocent" face that he always made and said: "Tell Amanda to cancel him." Percy handed him the remote to Michael's kill-chip.

"Sir. It's _Michael_. Nikita's dead now –maybe we can reason with him-" Birkhoff tried.

"Alright." Percy said, opening the door to his office and stepping a foot inside, "_You_ cancel him." He closed the door behind him.

Birkhoff felt the color leave his face as he stared at the wood Percy had disappeared behind. He looked down at the silver device in his hand.

_Cancel Michael_.

He already knew that he wouldn't be able to do it.

Out of the entire_ world_, Birkhoff had had two people he considered his friends: Nikki and Michael. Nikita was dead –killed by her own mole. Birkhoff needed his friends; he wanted someone to live for beside himself. Canceling Michael would be like canceling himself.

Thinking about it, Birkhoff realized that his dependent-ness on Michael was a little unhealthy. And downright _sad_.

Birkhoff made his way to his precious lab slowly. Once there, he unlocked the first drawer of his desk and pulled out both of his handguns, even though he still had the remote to Michael's chip. Loading them quickly, Birkhoff tucked the guns into his waistband and hurried out.

He slowed down to a less suspicious pace as he turned onto the hall that passed by the training area. Arriving at the elevators, Birkhoff pressed furiously at the button.

The elevator took its time; the doors seemed to slide open slower than usual.

Amanda stepped out and looked surprised to see the hacker standing there impatiently. He slipped past her and into the elevator.

Although she didn't say anything, she held Birkhoff's gaze as the doors of the elevator closed once more. Once they did, however, he let out a breath of relief and leaned back against the rails on the walls as he waited to arrive at the sublevels of the facility.

Michael was still handcuffed to the stump in the middle of the room when Birkhoff entered. He glanced up briefly and snorted, "I thought you already said good bye." He said bitterly.

Birkhoff reached into his pocket and pulled out his favorite handheld PC device. It was only a matter of pressing the right buttons, and the cuff around Michael's wrist snapped open.

The agent looked up slowly and then stood, taking up a defensive stance.

Birkhoff put up one hand where Michael could see it and then reached back slowly to grab one of his handguns. "First of all, I'm not a coward." He told Michael, holding up the gun, "Now if I give you this, will you _not_ try to shoot me?"

Michael stepped forward and nodded, looking cautious.

No sooner had he handed over the weapon, though, then Birkhoff had a gun pointed at his head.

Of course this would happen.

Birkhoff pulled the second gun out from behind him and pointed it at Michael, "I said don't shoot me!"

"What are you doing?" Michael hissed through his teeth.

"What does it look like? I'm busting us out."

"Us?" Michael repeated, voice conveying his increasing suspicion. He didn't relax his hold on the gun, nor did he lower it.

"Yeah, you think Percy's going to let me live when he finds out I let you escape?" Birkhoff said as he held his gun up in surrender.

Michael lowered his own weapon slowly, "Why?" He asked.

"I'm not a coward." Birkhoff repeated, "And I figured Nikita probably shouldn't die in vain." He watched Michael flinch ever so slightly as he added the last part.

After a moment, Michael nodded and straightened up, and nodded; he believed that Birkhoff was telling the truth.

"First of all, after we get out, we have to contact Ryan Fletcher. He doesn't have an actual black box. It's going to release a nerve gas when it's decrypted." Birkhoff said.

"Alright, but what's the plan of escape? We can't leave without being seen" Michael pointed out: "and we only have two guns and twelve rounds between us."

"You forget." Birkhoff said smugly as he pulled his handheld out of his jacket, "I own this place."

A small smile appeared across Michael's lips before disappearing again. He nodded, "Get us out alive."

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><p><strong>AN: Not much of a cliff-hanger, but what do you think? (Again, I apologize to people who like Alex and Nikita [I like Nikki, too, but she had to go for my story])**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: This poor thirteen year old only owns her laptop. And her fingers. And okay, her hair, too, and maybe her brain, but she's pretty sure it might actually be owned by aliens…**

**A/N: Okay, so that last chapter was pretty short, but don't be expecting too much. Mirkhoff in large doses can result in fangirl squee overload, which can result in happy death. No really. **

**I'd also like to say that if Michael doesn't seem to beat up over Nikita's death it's because when I watched the season finale, Birkhoff was like, "Oh and Nikki's, like, dead." And then Michael was just like, "What? Oh… *looks down in defeat* Okay." **

**Really Michael? No tears? That's hardly like you. (Notice the sarcasm). Alright! I know what you're thinking: enough with the babbling! On with the story!**

**Oh wait! I forgot to add: the show Nikita never actually showed how Nikki made it through the CIA place, so I made up my own version of their security system. Mainly, people get knocked out, and are stolen to open doors.**

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><p>"So what's the plan?" Birkhoff yelled over the sound of the wind as they sped down the road in a hijacked convertible as a Division van exploded behind them, "We stop Fletcher from killing himself, destroy Operation Sparrow, and track down the rest of the black boxes?"<p>

"Basically," Michael replied in that serious voice of his as he drove.

"And kill anyone and everyone who gets in our way?" Birkhoff wondered. He received the usual 'I'm not amused' look from Michael.

He shrugged, "Just making sure…" he said. He looked down at the device in his hand –something of his own design that was basically his computer packed into what looked vaguely like a black box, but wasn't. At the moment, the screen was filled with views of security cameras from Division. Birkhoff had also hacked into the communications link –and with ease. He had, of course, designed it in the first place. "Percy's is going to get the Division agents in the CIA to send out an alert to look out for us. Can't be good… but maybe I can…" He trailed off and concentrated on his hacking.

No more words were spoken. Michael focused on driving, and Birkhoff hacked into Division communications. As they drove into the city, Birkhoff suddenly broke into a smug grin, "CIA Division moles never even got the message." He announced triumphantly, "We can walk in and they'll think we're there on Percy's orders. They'll leave us alone."

"Until the other agents catch up with us and burst in with the intent to kill." Michael said grimly, turning to cut through some abandoned building parking lots to avoid traffic lights and their cameras, which could be hacked and viewed by Division.

Birkhoff was silent for a moment before he said, "I changed the location of our tracker's. It should look like we're heading to Nikki's place."

This time Michael didn't reply, but Birkhoff noticed that his grip on the wheel had suddenly tightened at the mention of Nikita. He mentally slapped himself for bringing it up.

When Michael finally swerved into the Langley parking lot, they jumped out of the car and raced inside. Once past the doorway, they changed into a slower, less suspicious pace and crossed the room, looking very official. At least, Michael looked official, with his suit and grim expression. Birkhoff looked slightly _less_ official in his… well, jeans and flannel.

They passed by the receptionist without a word and headed toward the elevator like they did it every day.

They stepped into the elevator and Birkhoff pressed the button for seventh floor. Obviously, he knew what he was doing.

When they stepped into the hall, they were immediately faced with the problem of a locked door, which could only be accessed by someone with clearance.

Birkhoff held up a card –one he had somehow stolen off an agent in the atrium –and swiped it through the panel next to the door. He then pressed a few buttons and the door clicked open. He snorted, "CIA. So predictable." He muttered as they went inside.

"Where are they?" Michael said.

"Secure room at the end of the hall." Birkhoff answered as they ran. He took out his PC device and began working on it as they arrived at the metal door of the room.

Michael stood waiting impatiently and glanced around. He noticed a camera at the end of the hall which seemed to be watching them.

"Got it." Birkhoff said suddenly, distracting Michael from the security camera. The light on the panel next to the door turned green and the door slid open.

Inside, they saw Fletcher, the head of CIA and another agent standing around the cryptographer, Malcolm Mitchell.

"Freeze!" Michael snapped as he and Birkhoff raised they weapons. "Do _not _open Operation Sparrow."

They all turned around and reached for their weapons.

"Don't move, damn it!" Michael barked at them. "That isn't a black box!"

"_Birkhoff_?" Fletcher said as he recognized the hacker. He looked at his boss, "_They're_ Division agents, sir!"

"Yeah, sure, now hand over the box." Birkhoff said, becoming impatient with the CIA agent immediately. It may have had something to do with the grudge he held against the man for kidnapping him for Nikita, though.

"No, this has information about Operation Sparrow-"

"It has a nerve toxin in it. You click on Operation Sparrow, and it'll be released, killing everyone in this room." Michael interrupted, "the target is your boss." He looked pointedly at the large black man standing in front of him.

Everyone looked at the black box sitting on the table, but no one moved to hand it over. Michael fired a shot and they all flinched, giving him the opening to rush in and yank the box away from the computer.

Before the CIA agents could even pull out their guns and shoot at them, Michael and Birkhoff were racing away.

They made it so far as the next hall before a squad of gun-wielding men came running toward them. One of them was an agent they recognized as Division. No doubt he had fed the CIA some nonsense that Percy had made up.

Instead of surrendering, Michael grabbed Birkhoff by the arm and yanked them down another hall.

They had to run; they were outnumbered. Yet as they turned down another hall, Michael twisted around and aimed a single shot.

The Division agent fell to the ground, tripping some of the other men.

What happened next was a matter of escaping. They ran into a conference room and pressed themselves up against the wall as the CIA agents ran past. The agents would be doubling back soon (just as soon as they realized that Michael and Birkhoff couldn't run _that_ fast, so they shouldn't have disappeared on every hall) so they closed the doors, locked them, and opened the windows of the room.

Michael poked his head outside and looked for an escape route. As it turned out, there was a fire escape four windows down. The windowsills had a ledge so they would be able to climb across the outside of the building to the staircase.

He made Birkhoff go first, and they both climbed onto the outside of the building, the ground of the alley seven floors below them. It had to be a careful process, and by the time Birkhoff reached the metal staircase, Michael could hear the CIA agents trying to break down the door of the conference room they had come from.

Birkhoff was gesturing for him to hurry up, and was nearly there when the first CIA agent stuck his head out of the window and saw them. He gave a shout and raised his gun.

Michael looked from the agent to Birkhoff standing on the staircase a few feet away.

The agent fired a shot, and Michael jumped. He started to fall, but Birkhoff reached over the rail and grabbed his arm.

The agent fired again as Birkhoff pulled Michael up over the side. Once he was over, though, Birkhoff raised own weapon and fired. He missed purposefully, but the shot caused the other man to retreat back into the window.

Now it was Birkhoff's turn to grab Michael, and they ran.

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><p><strong>AN: Sooo? What do you think? Like it? Then go to my profile and vote for another story to be put on hold because the fans of my X-Men fanfics are totally voting my one and only Nikita story off! I have a poll on my profile that asks which story should be put on hold so I can focus on the others… so vote, and you might just see more!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: See previous chapters and be enlightened on the nature of my brain.**

**A/N: Yay! Chapter three! You know, I'm thinking about shooting someone in the shoulder or something. Who should it be –Birkhoff or Michael? Also, if the words don't sound in character enough to you, try imagining Aaron Stanford and Shane West saying them. I find that usually helps –especially for Michael's part (I have no idea how to describe his voice… I mean, I guess it always sounds really inquiring or urgent or something… ).**

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><p>They had to lay low.<p>

Birkhoff dragged Michael through the streets and alleys until Michael didn't even recognize where in the city they were. "Come on –in here." Birkhoff hissed, dragging them into a shabby comic-book shop.

They passed by the cashier, who waved at Birkhoff, and went to the back of the shop. It turned out there was a table there, hiding behind a shelf of hardback comics. Birkhoff sat down immediately and took out his handheld PC. "I have our trackers saying we're heading out of the city from the other side."

Michael crossed his arms over his chest, "We have to get them removed. I could probably find a surgeon who would be willing to do the operation…"

"Michael, I don't _have _a tracker in me." Birkhoff rolled his eyes.

"What?" He looked up, frowning like he did when he was confused.

Birkhoff reached into his pocket and held out a plain white card, on which a microchip was tapped, "I had it removed. Do you seriously think I would be loyal to Percy _or_ Division?"

"Of course. You're on Team Birkhoff." Michael said.

Birkhoff made a face like, "So?" and put the tracker back into his pocket as he turned his attention back to his PC.

Michael began to pace.

Eventually, Birkhoff looked up and said, "Just sit _down_, Mikey." He watched as Michael scraped a chair out from under the table and sat down.

"We need to get our hands on another black box and destroy the one with the nerve toxin." Michael said, leaning across the table.

Birkhoff didn't take his eyes of his PC as he reached into his jacket and pulled out the fake black box, "Here," he said, setting it down onto the table, "And here." He set an identical box on top of it.

"What is this?" Michael said.

"Nerve toxin… and black box…" Birkhoff muttered as his eyes darted rapidly across his screen while he tapped it with a stylus.

"You had a black box the entire time?" Michael said incredulously.

"Percy had a meeting with Oversight… I snuck into his office. So yeah. I had it the entire time." Birkhoff said without any interest.

"What, Percy didn't have it guarded? He _left it in his office_?"

"He's getting sloppy." Birkhoff nodded. "Percy overestimates himself."

"And everyone underestimates you," Michael shook his head and reached across the table, picking up the real black box. He turned it over, looking at every inch of it, "If we destroy this one, there'll only be four boxes left." He said.

"I thought the new plan was to expose all of the secrets on them."

"No, that would be chaos." Michael said, "The plan was to expose the _right_ secrets to bring Division crumbling down."

"So since that _was_ the plan, the new one is to _destroy_ all of the black boxes?"

"This is the box Percy carried with himself, right?" Michael asked, holding it up, "It needs his blood to unlock."

"It's not likely we're going to be getting his blood any time soon." Birkhoff snorted.

"But this box has to be important. Percy didn't even trust a Guardian with it."

"Yet he was _sloppy_ enough to just leave it in his office."

"It's as if he _wanted_ the black box to be taken –he made it seem important, but left it unprotected." Michael said, frowning.

"So it's a set up. Another one of Percy's plans." Birkhoff concluded.

"No, it's one of Percy's mind games… as usual." Michael frowned, "We should hold off on destroying the box until we know more about it."

"We should also move to a more secure location. We're in a comic book store, where Division wouldn't care or think to check out, but it's still not an ideal place to hide out." Birkhoff pointed out.

"We could find an abandoned warehouse…" Michael said thoughtfully. Birkhoff knew he was thinking about Nikita's abandoned mansion, which Division now had under surveillance. He looked up, "Then let's move. We don't really have anything else to do at the moment."

Michael stood up and reached for the black boxes –both the fake and the real one –but Birkhoff swiped them off the table before he could reach them. Michael looked at him and he stood up, "I'm keeping them."

"Birkhoff-" the other man began to protest. He put the boxes away and crossed his arms, "I don't trust you, Mikey. No way am I giving you the black box." He said.

Michael looked like he was going to do some further protesting, but instead, clenched his jaw shut and stiffly nodded once, eyes dark and mutinous.

They made their way around the shelves and toward the door.

"Didn't find anything you wanted?" the cashier asked Birkhoff.

"No, maybe next time," he replied, never looking up from his PC as he walked.

"Sure,"

Birkhoff opened the door and Michael held it open. He glanced over his shoulder on his way out as a habit, but this time, he looked just in time to see the cashier pull a gun out from underneath the counter. Michael reached for his own weapon, but suddenly the cashier gave a scream and collapsed, having never fired a shot.

Michael looked back at Birkhoff.

"I hacked into the transmission frequency of his kill chip remote." Birkhoff muttered without interest, "Now are we going to go or what?" He looked up as he closed and stowed his PC into a jacket pocket.

Michael closed the door of the comic book shop and stepped down from the doorway, "How did you know?" He asked quietly as they started down the street.

"That guy _never_ waves. He usually just sits there. Never speaks, either." Birkhoff shrugged.

They walked farther down the street before Michael said quietly, "Thank you."

Birkhoff glanced at him in surprise for a moment before shrugging again, this time looking smug. "No problem."

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><p><strong>AN: If you liked that and want to see more, please review. **


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I hereby disclaim. See earlier chapters and be enlightened on the nature of my brain.**

**A/N: Chapter 4, woohoo! So, someone said that they wanted to see Birkhoff get shot because his pain is amusing… and also, if I shoot Michael, he'll just patch himself up without a word, and that's no fun. Thus, Birkhoff will be shot. **

**Eventually.**

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><p>It wasn't much of a place.<p>

They ended up finding an abandoned warehouse just outside of the city. It was all boarded up, but Michael and Birkhoff broke in through the side and searched the building for a place to isolate their living area to. They picked one of the smaller rooms, and then Michael disappeared for an hour.

Which was fine with Birkhoff, of course. Really, he just sat there in the middle of the room with his PC, hacking away at Division's network. It was easy, obviously, since he had been the one to design it in the first place. He knew that Percy would have him replaced, but whoever it turned out to be, their skills would probably be a huge downgrade for Division.

After all, Birkhoff _had_ hacked into the _Pentagon_ years ago –for fun, too.

… He really hoped Michael didn't accidentally go get himself killed. It was possible. Who knew if he was still thinking rationally –Nikita had meant a lot to many people, but she had definitely meant the _most_ to Michael.

Birkhoff stood up and began to pace.

What if Michael really _did_ die?

He had never even mentioned where he was going; he'd just slipped off by himself.

_Michael isn't stupid, Michael wouldn't do anything rash_, Birkhoff told himself. Still, what did he know? Apparently, not that much about Michael.

Sure, as an agent of Division, you weren't exactly supposed to share your life's story with everyone, but they _were_ friends, right? Friends knew things about other friends, _right_? Thinking back, Birkhoff realized that he didn't know a single thing about anyone in Division that he hadn't learned by hacking into their personal records. And it wasn't like Michael was extremely tech-savvy, so it was likely that he didn't know anything about Birkhoff other than his name and anything else that was very apparent about him.

Well that was a bit down-putting.

Nevertheless, Birkhoff decided that if Michael got himself killed, he was going to drag him back from the grave and kill him again himself.

The door opened and Birkhoff drew his gun immediately.

Thankfully it was only Michael.

"Jesus," Birkhoff said, sighing in relief. He lowered his weapon. "What were you doing?"

Michael held up a black duffle bag before he dropped it on the floor, "Weapons." He said.

Birkhoff felt a twinge of annoyance, "Weapons." He repeated flatly.

Maybe Michael could hear what he was thinking, because then he held out a plastic bag and said, "Subway."

Birkhoff took the bag and peered inside to see two wrapped sandwiches, two waters, and two apples. He smirked; Michael was forgiven.

They sat on the cement floor in the middle of the room, eating their food, and Birkhoff said, "So, I disabled your tracker while you were gone, but your kill chip was designed so it can only be disabled when you die."

Michael looked up with a frown.

"Yes, Mikey, you _do_ have a kill chip. Luckily, Percy gave me the remote." Birkhoff took the silver device out of his pocket and set it down on the floor in front of them.

Michael stared at it for a long time. A single press of the button could end his life. He reached out slowly and picked it up. He held it carefully, turning it over and inspecting it closely. "We're going to get rid of this." He said in a low voice, "_Soon_."

"And the most efficient way to do that is to put it in a metal boxed and throw it into the middle of the ocean." Birkhoff said flatly and not quite seriously. He took the remote from Michael, though, and said, "I'll do it, Michael."

The other man watched as the device disappeared into Birkhoff's jacket. His jaw was clenched tightly and his eyes were narrowed ever so slightly. It was obvious that he was growing a bit agitated; he was used to doing everything, and now Birkhoff was taking command.

They finished up eating and Michael suggested that they head out and take care of anything they needed to. For Birkhoff, that didn't mean a whole lot. He didn't spend a lot of time in his apartment and Division would most likely have eyes on the place anyway. All of his personal possessions were in Michigan, where he was originally from and where his parents still lived (What? He was a hacker; it wasn't too much trouble to check in on his parents once in a while… even if they thought he was dead.).

So while Michael disappeared off to somewhere (Nikita's old place; Division had left the place alone), Birkhoff walked down the streets and to the edge of the city, where the buildings slowly became shorter and shabbier. He stood on the sidewalk of a bridge and looked down at the waters of the New York Bay. The waters were nearly black this time of year, and the waters were rather strong. Birkhoff looked down into his hands, where he held a small metal case. The remote to Michael's kill chip was rested inside amongst tight Styrofoam packing.

Birkhoff looked down at the water once more and reached out to drop the case into the water but paused. He tilted his head to the side and considered his actions once more. One press of the device inside the case and Michael would be canceled. He didn't want Michael canceled, of course.

Yet… so much _power_ seemed to rest in a single action.

Drop the case, and no one would get the remote; Michael was safe.

Don't drop it, and someone might find it one day.

It was the difference between life and death.

A moment passed.

The wind picked up and a boat not so far off in the distance blew a horn, covering an possible sounds of something splashing into the water.

Birkhoff stepped back and put his hands in his pockets. He watched the sun set over the Bay for a few more minutes and then turned his back to it and walked away.

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><p><strong>AN: I know. I suck. Anyway, season 2 of Nikita is premiering tomorrow! Who's excited? I am (even though I don't own cable and will have to wait until it's available on Megavideo to watch it)! I figured that I might as well get this chapter posted before everyone's seen how season 2 is and then doesn't like my AU anymore. I'm really hoping Birkhoff will go rogue in season 2! Please review this chapter.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: All characters and publicly recognized whatevers are owned by their respective owners (who should give their things over to me. Seriously. I'll take much better care of them.)**

**A/N: Big thank you to all my reviewers! I'm really so sorry for the horrible excuses of chapters I post (their so short!), but I want to be able to post regularly, and my attention span is too short, so if my chapters are over 3,000 words, it takes me WEEKS to update. Plus, you guys eat all this stuff right up, so I figured it would be healthier for you to take 'em in smaller doses. **

**Still, now that Nikita season 2 (!) has started, I'm beginning to wonder if this fanfic will still be liked. I just saw the pilot and I loved it! The Mikita was absolutely AMAZING, and it just makes me wonder why OTHER shows can't have characters like Nikita, too. I thought Birkhoff's bling in the pilot was hilarious, but someone needs to shoot the newbie tech girl who beat him and traced Michael's video. Also, didn't season episode 2 yet, but heard that Birkhoff gets a new lady friend. *Le gasp*!**

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><p>"The main objective is finding the remaining black boxes."<p>

Birkhoff nodded.

"Do we have _any_ idea where they are?" Michael asked.

Birkhoff shook his head.

"Nikita did."

He raised his eyebrows in a "do tell" sort of way.

It was ten o'clock and Michael and Birkhoff had both returned to the warehouse. The room still did not contain much furniture. There was a flashlight sitting in the middle of the room, sitting upward and sending light out. There was a bag of weapons and a bag of clothing. That was it.

Michael reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He spread it out on the floor and said, "It was hidden on her cot. She never mentioned this, but it looks like Nikita was starting to narrow down the location of one of the Guardians. There was one somewhere…in…" He smoothed out the map against the floor and said, "Michigan?"

Birkhoff raised his eyebrows, "_Michigan_? Like, Great Lakes Michigan, home of the _Cherry Festival_?" he said.

"Uh… Yeah. Looks like it." Michael shrugged.

They both leaned forward to more closely look at the map.

"_Looks like_ Nikki narrowed down the Guardian's location to 'Ingham County'. Perfect. That gives us a lot to go on."

"She was doing fine." Michael snapped.

"Hey, never said she wasn't." Birkhoff replied, holding up his hands in a placating matter. He stared warily across the floor, waiting for any other possible outburst. There wasn't one, but the sudden tension in the air stayed.

"So… I guess… I will… um." Birkhoff tried to come up with a quick excuse but failed. A long silence dragged by awkwardly.

Michael cleared his throat and looked down, rubbing a hand against the back of his neck. "I'm going to get some sleep." He said.

"Yeah, sure." Birkhoff said immediately. "I mean, we have work to do tomorrow."

"Yeah."

"Yeah."

They moved off to opposite sides of the room and attempted to get comfortable for the night. Birkhoff reached out and took the flashlight, turning it off.

Sleeping on a concrete floor was not comfortable. Birkhoff kept rolling onto his side, then onto his back and back onto his side. He took off his jacket and bunched it up to use as a pillow. When he finally settled down, he listened to the sound of the night around him. As it turned out, it sounded like Michael wasn't getting any sleep, either.

…

Michael actually woke up very late. When he came around, he felt a dull pain near his hip. He sat up quickly and groaned.

"Jesus, Michael. I thought I just told you not to get up really quickly." He heard Birkhoff scolding.

He moved at a much slower pace to finish sitting up and he looked over at Birkhoff, who was sitting close by.

"What the hell?" Michael pulled up the corner of his shirt to see what was causing the soreness in his side. His eyes were greeted to the sight of a patch of white padding taped to his side like a bandage.

"I took out your tracker this morning after I picked up a few some medical supplies." Birkhoff explained.

"You could've discussed the decision with me before cutting through my skin while I was unconscious?" Michael grumbled. He was unable to feel complete anger because –hey, the sooner the trackers were ditched, the better.

"How do you feel?"

"Fine." Michael tried moving and groaned a bit, "Sore." He revised.

"Hungry?" Birkhoff held out a bag from Tim Horton's.

"Thanks." Michael said, taking it. It was a little gross eating without having first brushed his teeth, but he did so anyway. Birkhoff didn't say much, devoting most of his attention to his handheld again.

"We should get a move on soon. Find somewhere more comfortable to stay." He said when Michael finished eating. "A motel, at least, I'm thinking."

Michael nodded slowly and got to his feet with only a small wince of pain. They gathered up their things and started out the warehouse, but Michael stopped Birkhoff. "About yesterday," He said, "Did you get rid of the remote?"

"_Yeah_, Michael." Birkhoff said like he couldn't believe he was being asked the question. Michael nodded and went out ahead of Birkhoff, while the latter glanced down briefly at his jacket, where within the pockets were stashed a black box, a nerve toxin, and a small metal case.

…

SOMEWHERE ELSE:

"What's 'Operation Riverwood'?"

"It's on the black box that _Michael_ and _Birkhoff_ stole." Percy replied, spitting out the two words with anger.

Amanda raised an eyebrow, "I figured." She said.

"It's an older operation." Percy explained, "Much like Operation Northwood. There were a few malfunctions and the CIA was almost caught, so Oversight brought us in to take care of things."

She crossed her arms, "And what did we do?"

Percy raised his shoulders and put his hands out in a _What _could _we do_ sort of way. "We took care of things." He stood up and said, "The point is Amanda, that Operation Riverwood has important intel on some of the greatest conspiracy theories in America, and it can_not_ be uncovered."

"Do you really think Michael and Birkhoff know what they're doing?" Amanda asked, "We both know that Nikita was the one who knew the most about the black boxes. And knowing her, we know that she probably kept a few secrets from Michael."

"Do _you_ think they know what they're doing?" Percy replied with a question of his own.

"Birkhoff isn't as incapable as people think him to be, and Michael we _know_ is quite capable of working on his own." She reasoned.

"Exactly." Percy said, walking with her out of the office, "So tell Alex to begin checking up on Operation Riverwood. I want that operation to have _no_ traces at all."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I'm lame. This is so short. Sorry. Please review?**


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: Um… Don't feel like it. Look to previous chapters.**

**A/N: Ugh! I'm starting this SO late. Such a procrastinator. Hate me. In your review. : ) Also, I just watched Nikita episode 2, and when Birkhoff went, "I know you won't hurt me," to Michael, I went 'SQUEEEE!'. Then Owen came, and that was fun, too. : )**

**Okay, and then in episode 5, Birkhoff was like, "I'll go check cerebro," AHEM AHEM. Birkhoff = Aaron Stanford = Pyro = CEREBRO. Smiley face.**

* * *

><p>"We can start in Lansing." Michael suggested, "It's part of Ingham, and it's the capital."<p>

Birkhoff considered it, "What about Okemos? It's a small place. A Guardian might pick there it live. Hell, it's not even a town. Apparently it's a 'township' or a –a _meridian-township_."

Both Michael and Birkhoff looked up from the laptops they had acquired and were using. It was Day Three of their 'freedom' and they were currently located in a small motel room on the outskirts of New York City.

"A meridian-township?" Michael repeated.

"Yeah."

"Okay," Michael shrugged, leaning back in his chair, "We'll go there, look around, and then move on to Lansing."

"It's going to be a few hours drive." Birkhoff warned.

That didn't seem to bother Michael. "We can leave in a few hours, when it's night." He said. The ex-Division agent then stood up, and walked to the other side of the room where he sat down on one of the two beds, took out his wallet and began flipping obsessively through the photos inside it.

Birkhoff noted that this was the third time in the last five hours Michal had done so. It was a bit worrisome, but if that was the craziest Michael's grief was going to get, Birkhoff wasn't going to say anything. In Division, death among agents was so frequent, no one ever got too friendly with each other. It was usually only the rookies who had attachment issues, anyway. But everyone toughened up eventually, and for Birkhoff, that time had been a long time ago.

* * *

><p>"Want me to take the wheel?" Birkhoff asked. They had been on the road for six hours, it was dark, and they hadn't stopped once. The blank look in Michael's eye was beginning to worry Birkhoff. "You can get some sleep."<p>

Michael pulled off the highway at the next exit and stopped the car in the first available parking lot. He got out silently and he and Birkhoff traded spots.

"Michael?" Birkhoff said as he turned back onto the highway, "It's okay to be, uh, human, you know that, right?"

He leaned back against the window, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I miss Nikki, too. It's okay to let that show."

Michael didn't answer and turned away to face the window. He didn't move for a while, and Birkhoff figured that he had fallen asleep.

* * *

><p>One moment Michael was falling asleep to the purr of the car's engine, and the next, someone was shaking his shoulder. He opened his eyes and looked around blearily.<p>

Birkhoff grinned and held up a steaming cup of coffee, "Morning, sunshine." He said. "We're in Okemos."

Michael groaned and sat up, undoing his seatbelt. He took the offered cup and stepped out of the car. They were parked at a Dunkin' Donuts right next to the highway. The sun was just rising. "What time is it?" He questioned.

"Well, Michael, you're welcome. I just drove for eight hours without stopping once, and I haven't been asleep for almost twenty-four hours, but I'm fine, thank you." Birkhoff replied. When Michael just stared at him expectantly he sighed, checked his watch and said, "It's seven AM, man."

"Where are we starting the search?"

"For the Guardian? Yeah. I checked in on the local banks while you were zonked out. Clues are pointing to the MSU Federal Bank. I have its location. We can go there." He said, taking a sip of his own coffee. "For the past four years, one person has been visiting an account twice a month. I know that doesn't sound odd, but it's all we got, and if this person is a Guardian, then her police record would make a lot more sense."

"Police record?" Michael asked, "I thought Guardians weren't supposed to have _any_ record."

"Yeah. This is a record from before Division. I erased it, but I remember this chick. She was hilarious. Her name is Arianya Wu. No middle name. She's Chinese." Birkhoff smirked for a moment. Then continued: "I thought she was KIA."

"Arianya? I don't remember any recruit named—" Michael started with a frown.

"She wasn't in Division for a long time. Six months. And you were on a mission." The hacker explained. "She was supposedly killed on her first mission, even though it went successfully. I guess Percy saw potential in her to be a Guardian." He took another sip of his drink and looked out into space thoughtfully.

"So we'll check the bank?" Michael said.

"No. The last time she was there was two months ago. She's already taken the black box out. We have to go directly to her house."

"And I trust you know where that is?"

"I have the address. It's less the ten minutes away." Birkhoff confirmed. "I figured you'd want to be awake before the action began, though."

* * *

><p>SOMEWHERE ELSE:<p>

"What's Operation Riverwood?" Alex raised an eyebrow.

"She lives in Michigan."

"Yeah. I figured." She replied, looking around the airplane. She turned her attention back to the screen where Amanda was watching her. "What's the point? Cancel her?"

"Basically. Oh, and she has a black box, so get that, too. Percy wants it back." Amanda added offhandedly. Her left eye twitched showing her annoyance with all of Percy's complicated plans.

Alex looked over to another screen where information on the target was being downloaded. "This… Arianya Wu. Who is she?"

"She's knows almost everything Percy knows." Amanda growled, seemingly even more annoyed at this bit, "She was one of the best, which is why Percy made her one of his Guardians for his little black boxes. Go in, get the box, and take out Arianya. A Cleaner will be sent in twelve hours. That's more than enough time."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Sorry this is so short. Really. More will come, though. I don't know when, though, because I'm up to my eyes in homework.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: NOTE. This is the fucking LAST disclaimer I will write for this fic. You KNOW I don't own this stuff.**

**A/N: Apologies for the late updates. Like I mentioned, I could probably write a lot more per chapter, but it would take too long. I think maybe when I finish this fic, I'll meld some chapters together so there will be LESS chapters, but more stuff in each one. Also, I've had to do a lot of research for the locations of Operation Riverwood, even though I live there. Um, also, if you –for some strange reason –happen to live in the house mentioned… uh, that's not your house. It just sounds like it. *Cough***

* * *

><p>The name of the neighborhood Arianya Wu lived in was Riverwood. There were two entrances. One sign said 'Riverwood' and the other said 'Riverwood Park'. It was an average-looking neighborhood. The houses were of an older design -1990s and 80s, actually –and they weren't too big or too small.<p>

They area wasn't that large, either. Soon, Birkhoff was parking on the side of a street. Michael tucked his gun into his waistband as they got out of the car and Birkhoff grumbled something about being too obvious and 'the neighbors can see you'.

Arianya's address led to the steps of a blue house –the only one in the neighborhood. There was absolutely no garden, whatsoever, except for a dead rosebush next to the steps of the porch. Birkhoff went right up to the door and pressed on the doorbell. It stuck, so he jabbed at it again.

Michael shifted restlessly behind him.

A long time passed and then the door opened.

"Hi," A woman behind the screen door grinned, "Are you with the painters?" she asked. She wore a t-shirt and jeans and her black hair was pulled back in a sloppy bun. She didn't look Chinese.

Michael frowned and glanced at Birkhoff.

"Arianya." Birkhoff said bluntly, "We're here for the black box."

The woman raised an eyebrow and her smile fell like a dead fly. She opened the screen door, "Come in." She invited. "Don't worry, my gun is upstairs. I can't shoot you or anything." She said as they followed her into the house. The front hall opened up into a kitchen and eating area.

"Want something to eat?" She asked.

"No. Black box, Anya." Birkhoff said.

She sighed and opened a cupboard, pulling out a mug. "You don't want it." She told them. "No one should want it..."

"Percy wants it back."

The Asian looked up at this. She looked tired. "Fine," she told him, "Take it. Destroy it. Destroy all of them!" She reached down under the counter and opened a panel on the bottom of it. She pressed a button and another panel –this one on the wall –opened to reveal the black box. Birkhoff went over and took it out.

"Why is this so easy?" Michael questioned, suspicion in his voice, posture, and expression.

"Not everything has to be a fight. Besides, you'd probably beat me. I'm not on the Regiment." Arianya replied with a shrug.

"What kind of Guardian are you?"

"Uh, technically, I'm not a Guardian. I'm just …" she gave a very Percy-like shrug, "Here," She said, pointing down.

"Wow, this conversation has been really enlightening," Birkhoff said loudly, clapping his hands together, "But I think it's time to go." He looked at Michael.

"That would be a good idea." Arianya agreed, "Considering Division's already sent someone to kill me and get the black box." She crossed her arms and looked at Michael. "You really need to loosen up a little. I mean dude, don't take life so seriously. No one gets out alive." She made a face.

Something suddenly occurred to Michael, "Are you _drunk_?"

She nodded slowly, looking thoughtful, "I may be on something, yes. But you should really follow your boyfriend. Division will kill you." She gestured 'shoo'.

"Birkhoff's not…" Michael trailed off when he noticed Arianya was no longer listening. She was busy sifting through the pantry. A moment later, she took out a cookie jar, opened and looked inside, muttering under her breath.

She shook her head and then reached for a multi-flavored can of popcorn. She threw the lid to the side and then began tossing dried up, yellow sponge-looking things out from inside, before she took a small machine gun out.

"There we go." She said with satisfaction as she climbed to her feet. She aimed towards the living room and fired a few rounds. A glass cabinet shattered, "Still works." She nodded, mostly to herself.

"_Michael_," Birkhoff called from the front hall, "Let's _go_."

He opened his mouth to say something to Arianya, and then closed it, shaking his head. He turned and went to join Birkhoff in the car.

"That was just… _bizarre._" He told the hacker as he reached for his seat belt.

"Yeah, well," Birkhoff started the car, "At least we got the black box."

Suddenly the house blew up.

"Holy-" he started to yell.

Arianya suddenly came into view, a bag slung over her shoulder and weapon in hand. She opened the back door of the car and slid in, "Whatever you're doing –I'm in."

Michael and Birkhoff looked at her and then at each other.

"Well, _drive_!" She ordered.

People in the surround area were starting to come out of their houses to see what was going on. Birkhoff stepped on the gas pedal and drove away. They were just exiting the neighborhood when a sleek, black sedan turned in. Michael got a moment's glimpse of the driver.

"_Division_." He hissed.

"What?"

"Alex –she just turned into the –she's turning around."

Birkhoff stepped harder on the pedal and weaved quickly through traffic to lose their tail. "Shit," he muttered under his breath.

"Who's that?" Arianya wondered, peering out the back window.

"Alexandra Udinov," Michael explained, "She works for Division." He left off that she had also killed Nikita. He doubted Arianya would know what that meant.

"Udinov?" she repeated, "Like-?"

"Yeah." He replied grimly.

Arianya let out a low whistle, "But Division killed the Udinovs. Why's she working for them?"

No one answered.

After a moment she said, "I think she's pulling back."

"Doesn't matter." Michael said. "Keep driving."

"Wasn't gonna stop." Birkhoff assured him.

They were well into Ohio when Arianya suddenly demanded that they go to a rest stop. "I need to go." She complained when Birkhoff looked at her incredulously through the rearview mirror. "Come on, I'm not a machine!"

Upon her insistence, they stopped a few hours later to spend the night at a motel as well. Michael was convinced that if not for her, they would have made it back to New York already. He let Birkhoff know exactly what he thought (through a few choice words) of their new companion as he paced the motel room they were sharing. Arianya had insisted on her own room.

Birkhoff listened with a bored expression and his head resting in his palm. His eyes followed Michael as the man paced up and down the room. It was nice to see him being all active again, but did it really have to be so he could rant about the disadvantages of bringing Arianya along with them?

"She's a black box herself." Birkhoff reminded. "We need her if we're going to do this."

"Do what?" Michael dropped down on the bed. He seemed to have adapted a pessimistic attitude toward things. Well, that wasn't quite right. He had never been optimistic in the first place. Birkhoff supposed one might say that Michael had adapted… _his_ attitude toward the mission, and he had sort of adapted _Michael's_ attitude.

Interesting, he thought to himself.

A mere yards away, Arianya Wu stood in her own motel room. Instead of going straight to sleep like she had declared she was going to do, she sat at the edge of her bed, dialing a number on her cellphone. Her machine gun lied a few feet away.

Bringing the cell up to her ear, the young woman waited for the other side to pick up. She tapped her foot on the ground impatiently.

"_Yes?_"

"It's me. I've got them and the black box. We're at a motel. I'll send you coordinates."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Dun dun dun. People are going to get shot, I tell you. SHOT.**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: We be gettin' a little impatient for the romance to start, huh? Soon, my readers… soon… MEANWHILE, someone's getting shot, as promised. There was a tie between who people wanted to see in pain, so I, inevitably, decided who our victim would be. NOW LET US PROCEED WITH THE STORY.**

* * *

><p>"I'm hungry." Birkhoff decided. It was past midnight, but hell, it's not like he or Michael were in the habit of sleeping during such early hours anyway, so they were both awake.<p>

Michael looked up from where he sat by his lonesome in a dark corner of the room. He gave Birkhoff a disapproving look, but the hacker shrugged it off and stood up, putting on his coat. "I'll be back in ten," he said, opening the door.

Upon hearing the lock click, a certain amount of tension was released from Michael's body. Why he had been trying to keep it in, who knew? Maybe he wasn't used to people seeing him weak. He was supposed to be the strong, stoic one, wasn't he?

_Wasn't he_?

Michael scrubbed and hand over his face and stood up, taking two steps toward his bed before flopping down on it with a sigh. Minutes passed. He listened the sound of the air conditioner breaking down.

"Self-pity isn't going to get you anywhere."

He didn't even look up. "What if I don't want to go anywhere?" he asked. Since he was lying face down, all that came out was a series of muffled moans.

"Michael, now is not the time to lose focus." Nikita snapped.

He looked sideways to where she stood, arms crossed over her stomach. She looked appalled by his state. "Alright? Tomorrow you have to get up and drive back to New York. You and Birkhoff are supposed to finish this. We were supposed to bring Division down. Now where's the black box?"

Michael got up and went over to Birkhoff's bag, which was lying on the ground. He opened it up and sifted through the contents. "Here." He said. "The fake box and…" He frowned, trailing off.

"Michael," Nikita said, "Where's Arianya's black box? Where's Percy's?"

"I…" He opened the bag wider and pawed through it. Birkhoff's tablet, a shotgun, ammo, scraps of paper, fake , laptop… The black boxes were nowhere to be found. Maybe Birkhoff took them? Why didn't he take his other things, then? Michael thought back and groaned. Birkhoff had thrown his bag behind his seat when they went into the car. Arianya had been sitting in the backseat. When they stopped at the rest stop, she had probably taken the time to take the black boxes and hiding them on her person.

Shit. _Shit shit shit shitshitshitshitshit. _

Michael turned the bag upside down, shaking everything out of the pockets and onto Birkhoff's bed. No black box, but something else did tumble out of a side pocket. A metal box, but it was locked. Probably one of Birkhoff's things.

_SHIT_.

There was a knock on the door and Michael grabbed his gun off the television stand and loaded the cartridge with a new case.

"Careful," Nikita said softly.

"I know." He muttered, grabbing hold of the doorknob. He swung it open only to find Birkhoff standing there. Behind him, Nikita vanished.

"Hey, I got some…" Birkhoff looked up to see Michael's face and trailed off. "Uh, something _wrong_?"

"Get in." Michael said, pulling him into the room while checking the area outside their room. The parking lot was clear. He went next door and kicked the door in. Arianya was gone. Swearing rapidly, Michael returned to the room he and Birkhoff had rented out.

"Okay, what's… _hey_, why's my stuff everywhere?" Birkhoff demanded when he saw the room.

"You have the black boxes?"

"No, but"

"Well Arianya's gone and she took the boxes."

"Oh that sneaky little…" Birkhoff surveyed the room before stuffing everything back in his bag. He turned on his tablet and tapped it with his stylus a couple of times. "And she killed my tracker." He muttered unhappily.

"We have to go."

"No shit, genius," Birkhoff said. "Here." He grabbed Michael's jacket off the ground threw it over to him.

No sooner had they gotten into the car to start driving again, then they were suddenly being pursued by a squad of black SUVs. Michael swerved violently through the little bit of late night traffic, teeth clenched together while Birkhoff swore loudly in the seat next to him.

"Check for trackers." Michael spat out.

"Already on it, Mikey." Birkhoff replied, working fiercely on his tablet.

Meanwhile, Michael had turned off the highway. He sped through the darkened streets of a small, unnamed town, turning off the street and entering the docks. "We can get out here and lose them around the containers"

"-By doing what? Climbing inside?" Birkhoff muttered.

"-and ambush them." Michael finished loudly. "What choice do we have?" He swerved through the maze of containers before stopping the car. He and Birkhoff dived out and raced for cover, successfully beginning to climb up a stack of them as they heard their followers screech to a stop below in their own vehicles.

Michael and Birkhoff opened fire on the enemy, strategically taking out a couple of their pursuers before they were spotted and were shot at in return.

"Great plan, genius!" Birkhoff shouted over the gunfire.

"Shut up!" Michael yelled, shooting back down at their opponents.

"They're retreating…"

"What-?" Michael squinted to see what was going on below. His eyes widened as he realized what they were pulling out of the back of one of the SUVs. He grabbed Birkhoff and pulled him along the container to the other end. There was a container about six feet below them, nearly seven feet away.

Michael and Birkhoff exchanged looks before Michael retreated a distance. He took a running head start and leaped off the edge. He rolled into his landing and scrambled to his feet. He turned to see Birkhoff jump off the container, just as it exploded in a fiery blaze behind him. The force of the explosion sent him flying further than his own body would've taken him, and he ended up crashing into Michael.

The two of them went tumbling down. Perhaps it was his habit as a leader, but as debris and shrapnel from the explosion shot outward, Michael threw himself over the nearest person to protect them from harm.

* * *

><p>"Holy fuck." Birkhoff groaned, coughing as he inhaled smoke. There was yelling in the distance, and he was pretty sure his ankle was twisted. Sirens of all sorts were growing in the distance.<p>

"Birkhoff," Michael hissed, grabbing him by the jacket and pulling him up, "We have to go."

They ran through the aisles as quickly as they could. Michael half dragged Birkhoff most of the way. As they turned a corner, gunshots rang out into the air. Michael pushed Birkhoff back shot freely. Two bodies fell to the ground with a thud, their owners no match for the ex-Division agent.

Michael and Birkhoff approached a windowless white van and Michael shattered the driver's window as Birkhoff limped toward the other side of the car.

"Wait!" He turned wildly at the sound of Michael's shout. The next thing he knew, there was more gunfire, and he was being pushed to the ground.

And then it was silent.

Birkhoff opened his eyes and looked around. His eyes met Michael's and then they both looked at the blood spreading across his shirt. Michael dropped to his knees and cringed, hands flying to his wound like the pain was only just hitting him.

His skin had turned an ashy white color.

"Michael!" Birkhoff cried, grabbing hold of his comrade before he could fall over. As it was, Michael ended up crashing against Birkhoff instead. "Mikey, hold on… we'll get you somewhere…" he trailed off, concentrating on pulling Michael up and getting him out of the open while he himself had an injury. It was only then that he noticed several bits of metal shrapnel from the containers embedded in Michael's back through his coat.

"_Shit shit shittity shit fuck_," Birkhoff opened one of the van's doors and leaned Michael against the doorway. He threw his bag into the vehicle and yanked Michael's jacket off. A three-inch long scrap of metal flew out of Michael's shoulder as he did so.

"Birkhoff!" Michael gasped in pain.

"Shit, sorry. Okay. Get in the… What? No, don't you dare close your eyes!" Birkhoff grabbed Michael as he slumped back into the van.

Then, despite what he was being told, he closed his eyes and embraced the darkness.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I am one evil s.o.b. Okay, you know the drill. Review, tell me what you'd like to see in this story (seriously. I am a big fan-servicer.)… Check my profile for info, important announcements, polls, etc. Alright! With that, I sincerely apologize to you all in advance: school will be starting again soon, midterms are coming up, and so I won't have a ton of time to write. :'(**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: So sorry for the wait. And episode 12 = do you know how much I died at the hugging scene? A lot! It was so cute. Okay, someone make that gif. :D**

* * *

><p>When Michael woke up, he didn't know where he was. And he didn't like that. A careful examination of his surroundings gave him probable cause to believe that he wasn't a prisoner, though. It was a small apartment room. Non-descript. He was lying on a bed with an I.V in his arm, medication on the nightstand next to him, and bandages –lots of bandage work on his body. He couldn't feel the pain, but he could feel the stiff fabric patches the bandages created when clumped together.<p>

"How are you feeling?" Nikita sat at the end of the bed, looking at him with concern.

Michael continued to look around. "Fine. Where am I?"

She shrugged. "Nerd's probably around here somewhere…" Nikita looked around expectantly, as if anticipating Birkhoff to come walking in at any moment.

He didn't.

Michael listened for any sounds around him. There was a window nearby, but the curtains were drawn over it. The door to the room was closed.

How very unfortunate. Michael didn't like not knowing where he was and who else was around. Maybe he could get up and…

"-Pull out all the stitches you might have." Nikita says, rejecting the idea immediately. "You stay where you are."

He slumped back into his pillows, exhausted by the strain anyway.

"That's right, Michael. Sleep it off, okay? I'll be here when you wake up."

"Nn… won't." he mumbled as he closed his eyes. "You're dead."

* * *

><p>Michael woke next to something disrupting the bandages on his chest.<p>

His eyes flew open.

Birkhoff paused in the middle of peeling back the bandages covering the wound from the gunshot, which was located just above Michael's pelvis. He looked at Michael and then proceeded to remove the bandage not at all gingerly.

Michael winced.

"Welcome back." Birkhoff said. "Thanks for being a pain in the ass, even when you're knocked out cold."

Hm. So that's what he was cranky about.

"How long-?"

"Two whole weeks, man. I've seen people with more injuries walking around after only one week. But you? _Hell_ no." Birkhoff grumbled.

Michael sat up and yanked the I.V out of his arm. He grabbed the roll of bandages out of Birkhoff's hand, "Give me that." He snapped, swinging his legs over the bed. _Oh shit oh shit argh shit, fucking OW…_

He stubbornly refused to do anything more than wince just a little bit. He did his best to dress the wound himself but his fingers were stiff and he could focus on the task at hand. Eventually he felt Birkhoff tugging the roll out of his hands.

"Jesus, Michael, quit trying."

Michael looked up, a frustrated look on his face.

"Just accept that for the time being…" Birkhoff looked him in the eyes and smirked, "I'm in charge, and you're staying in bed. Now put that needle back in your arm and lie the hell down."

* * *

><p>As soon as he could get around himself, Michael took no time for a chance to pester Birkhoff into telling him what was going on.<p>

"Nothing!" Birkhoff finally yelled after several minutes of refusing to answer (usually it wouldn't have taken that long, but Birkhoff had all of the weapons at the moment, so Michael's intimidation approach hadn't worked as efficiently as usual…).

"Alright? We've been holed up in this apartment, wounded, and Percy has all of his precious black boxes again. We're back to square one, so just shut, stop complaining a help me clean this kitchen!" He threw a rag and the Windex at Michael and turned back to trying to scrub a stain off the counter.

Michael sprayed at the air with a dark expression.

He had learned earlier that Birkhoff had rented out a small, one-floor house in a rural area of New York. Unfortunately, the place wasn't the cleanest.

"Clean the counter, Mikey, not the goddamn air." Birkhoff snapped when Michael continued to squirt cleaning liquids into the air.

ELSEWHERE:

"So you have all of your black boxes now," Alex said, standing in front of Percy's desk. "What about Michael and Birkhoff? We've been unable to track them down."

"They're irrelevant right now." Percy said, waving his hand dismissively.

"Then what is relevant?"

"Oversight."

"Oversight?" she repeated with a frown.

"Taking them down. Taking them over. Division doesn't need to answer to a higher council." Percy declared.

"What about funding?"

"We'll have that taken care of."

Alex crossed her arms. "You really think that whatever your plan is, it's going to work?"

"I'm completely confident it will." He replied.

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><p><strong>AN: Ugh. I'm terrible for not working on this. Anyway, not much in this chapter. Just a little bit of domesticizing and foreshadowing. Kinda. Be sure to check my profile page for updates and news, tell me what you'd like to see in future chapters, blah, blah, blah… Review.**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Teehee! I'm finally fourteen years old!**

**Okay, hey guys. Just want to remind you that this is an AU so Cassandra, Max, and the whole Semak thing basically don't exist. Happy reading!**

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><p>Michael sat on the sofa of the empty living room (a new, bigger one. He and Birkhoff had stay at the old place just long enough for Michael to heal enough so that he could walk around for more than five minutes, and then they had moved to a more secure location).<p>

The television was broadcasting a police chase on a highway near New York City, and Michael's expression conveyed as much interest to the report as a block of wood might. In the next room, Birkhoff had given up on trying to make a grilled cheese sandwich and was busy trying to prevent a house fire.

Michael sighed, turned off the television and got to his feet. This simple task took him much longer than usual due to his stitches and whatnot.

Birkhoff looked over his shoulder as Michael entered the kitchen and sat down on a high stool. He finished washing the pan he'd been using and set it down on the stove, where the water on it sizzled against the leftover heat. "Hey." Birkhoff said, a little awkwardly. He and Michael didn't usually spend much time in the same room –they were usually in different places of the house, doing their own thing.

Michael nodded silently in acknowledgment and reached across the counter for a bottle of pain killers.

"So, um," Birkhoff cleared his throat and pretended to itch his nose. "What's the plan?"

"The plan?"

"Yeah. The plan. What're we doing?"

"Oh. The plan." Michael said. He unscrewed the cap of the pain killers and paused. "I don't know. What's the plan?"

"Seriously, dude? There's no plan?" Birkhoff said incredulously.

"At least you can go off and do your own thing now, right?" Michael said. "You're done with Division."

The hacker blinked. "You're _not_ done?"

"Not until Division has been burnt to the ground." Michael muttered, popping his medication into his mouth.

"God," Birkhoff grumbled, grabbing his crutch from where it leaned against the counter. He used it to limp over to the refrigerator and opened it. "You sound like…" He trailed off and stared intently into the fridge.

Michael knew what Birkhoff was going to say.

"So, um, what do you want for lunch?" Birkhoff changed the subject.

"You're terrible at cooking."

"I mean to order-in, jerk," Birkhoff said, straightening up and letting the fridge slam close.

Michael shrugged. "Whatever."

"Pizza it is."

When Birkhoff put down the phone, he found Michael staring at him with a strange expression. "What?" he said defensively.

"When did we become so domestic?" Michael wondered.

"Domestic?" Birkhoff repeated, looking around. "This isn't domestic, okay? It's a house, dude, _not_ domestic"

"-did you sweep the floor?"

"Yeah, but-" Birkhoff stopped midsentence. "Oh haha, Mikey. Real cute."

Michael grinned as Birkhoff attempted to glare at him. But there was no real agitation, and he ended up smiling, too.

There was awkward moment when they continued to stare at each other for longer than necessary. Birkhoff blinked and looked down at his watch, "How long do you think it's gonna take that pizza man to get here?" He wondered, turning away. He took his crutch and limped into the next room, leaving Michael standing in the kitchen, trying to understand what, if anything, had just happened.

…

When the pizza came, they sat on the couch to eat and watched an action film that was on and complained about how stupid some of the stunts were and how obviously fake the gunfights were, and Michael actually found himself semi-enjoying things.

It was certainly safe to say that Birkhoff's constant stream of comments on the physics of everything were amusing.

The next few days passed as the others. There seemed to be nothing on Division or the black boxes. Michael spent most days sitting around, still recuperating from his wounds, and Birkhoff spent most days on his laptops or going out without a word and returning empty handed with no explanation other than a shrug or a dismissive wave of his hand.

Michael knew Birkhoff was only hanging around because of him.

Birkhoff frankly did not give two shits about Division, but he also knew there was a reason Michael had been in charge of recruits and training, not teaching them how to hack complex firewalls. Michael –hell anyone –wasn't nearly as technically-savvy as Birkhoff.

The moment Michael might say 'okay, I'm done with this', Birkhoff would most likely take off.

Was it selfish that that was part of the reason Michael was still searching for something on the black boxes?

He thought maybe, after all these years, he might have gotten used to loneliness and working independently, but he supposed he'd never really counted Birkhoff as company during his days in Division.

But that was just it, wasn't it?

Birkhoff _was_ company, and he'd always been there, even when Nikita was not. Even now, that Nikita was not there. Come to think, Birkhoff was the only other friend Michael had ever known.

Still knows.

Birkhoff was still alive.

So maybe he was being selfish. It was quite possible that taking down Division would not mean making it out alive. But then it would just have to be that way.

Michael couldn't handle the thought of really being alone, and sure that was hilarious, considering all that he'd been through, but well. Years and years of putting Division first, Michael figured he deserved to act selfish.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Chapter 11!**

"Mikey, looks like we've got something." _For the first time in a month_, Birkhoff added silently.

Michael was at the doorway in seconds. "What is it?" He asked somewhat breathlessly as he walked up to the giant monitors on the walls.

Birkhoff dragged an image onto the screen. It was security footage from two days earlier and was taken from an intersection in New York.

"Arianya." Michael said, recognizing the woman crossing the street. "What's she doing there?"

Birkhoff clicked over to a different photo. "Paying the CIA a visit." He answered. "Specifically, one Ryan Fletcher."

Michael groaned. "What happened?"

"Fletcher left the building with Arianya twenty minutes later. He's been off the radar since."

"He left voluntarily?"

"Probably not." Birkhoff replied darkly, zooming in on a photo of Ryan and Arianya crossing the same street a little while later. She was walking closely behind him, one hand around his wrist and while casually pressing her other hand –which clutched a handbag –to his back. "Gun."

"Gun." Michael agreed.

"So what do we do?"

Michael looked down at Birkhoff, raising his eyebrows. "I thought you'd have an idea."

"I would track down Fletcher or Arianya, but that's already been done, and they dropped off the radar about two blocks away from CIA headquarters." He said. "Arianya cut her tracker out herself."

"Wonderful." Michael grumbled. "Any other good news?"

"That's it."

Michael dropped down onto the couch with a sigh. "What're we doing, Seymour?" He wondered. "We've got _nothing_."

"We could get Division's attention somehow."

"And then what?" Michael snapped irritably, "They'll just send a task team to kill us off."

"Well I don't know!" Birkhoff snapped back, "I'll just triple surveillance again and sit here for a few more hours every day, searching for something to go on!"

"Sorry."

"What?"

"I snapped, it's not your fault. Sorry." Michael said, shaking his head.

"Yeah. Um, sorry, too."

"It was my fault."

"Yeah. Okay." Birkhoff leaned back in his seat.

"It's just"

"-Michael." Birkhoff interrupted. "You don't have to explain anything. I get it. It's cool, man."

"No, it's not, I"

"-_Michael_? Shut up. It's fine."

He fell quiet and smiled a little. "I'm a mess, aren't I?"

"Yeah, you're totally freaking out a little" Birkhoff snorted, sitting up and leaning toward the computer monitor in front of him. "Now _I'm_ the cool one." He grinned.

"The 'cool' one?" Michael raised an eyebrow, "Don't be ridiculous, _Nerd_."

"Okay, first of all, I am _not_ a nerd." He sputtered. "I'm Shadow Walker, the Engineer, and at the moment, I've got my shit is _way_ more together than you do."

"Shadownet is only significant to nerds." Michael replied with a smirk.

"Michael, will you stop stealing my thunder for once?" Birkhoff said, blinking.

…

Birkhoff stared across the harbor silently. He didn't turn around as the crunch of gravel behind him signaled someone approaching.

"Seymour," a voice drawled. "What a lovely surprise."

He turned around and cocked his gun. "What do you want?"

"Relax," Amanda rolled her eyes, "I'm here alone."

"All the more reason to shoot," Birkhoff said with a small smile.

"Listen. You've been watching the news. Semak is dead. Alex is taking back the company. _Percy_ is taking back the company." Amanda said, "Oversight will lose control when that happens, and then _Percy_ will be running the whole scene."

"Isn't that what you want?" Birkhoff said.

"No," Amanda said, nostrils flaring. "I'm a proponent for _Division_, which frankly, Percy no longer represents."

"So you want to make a deal or something?" Birkhoff snorted.

The older woman leaned forward, looking unamused. The mouth of the gun pressed against her chest, but she didn't pay it any attention. "Here," She growled.

Birkhoff looked down. She held out a black box.

"At the moment, we have similar interests. Get rid of Percy." She said.

"Or I could shoot you now, and I'll still get the black box." Birkhoff said.

"Oh please," Amanda snorted, "You're not a _killer_."

"Funny. I've got a few names to my record." Birkhoff said pleasantly. He pressed the gun into her skin and snatched the black box out of her hands.

She clenched her jaw. "Okay," There was the sound of a lock opening and a metal box fell to the ground. "What's this?" She brought up a remote. "Kill chip remote? For whom?"

"How-?" Birkhoff swore.

"Your pocket's open," Amanda said smugly. "Now, you shoot, I'll press this button. I'm guessing this is Michael's? Am I right?" she was breathing heavily, eyes wide, but there was a smile on her lips.

It grew wider as she watched Birkhoff's expression freeze and then darken.

"Aha. So we've hit a soft spot. Tell me, _Seymour_, how many friends do you even have? How many people are there –that you care about? How many are _left_? Aw, only one?"

Birkhoff lowered his weapon.

"So, Birkhoff," Amanda said, "Let's take down Percy. You do your little nerd thing with the black box, and I'll give you back this remote and your precious Michael… _lives_. Okay?"

"I'll come after you," Birkhoff said. "You kill him, I'm going to kill you."

"Getting a little protective, hm, Birkhoff?" Amanda smirked. She slipped the remote clutching hand into the pocket of her coat and walked away slowly, as if daring Birkhoff to shoot her while her back was turned.

He didn't, and she walked away.

"_Shit_," Birkhoff hissed, kicking the fallen metal box across the pavement. "Shit."

He ran back to the house faster than he'd ever run before.

Michael jumped up and pointed a gun at his chest as he threw open the door.

"Jesus," He sighed, relieved to see it was only Birkhoff. "What's going on?"

"A black box, that's what," Birkhoff said, diving toward the nearest computer he could hook the thing up to. It was already unlocked, and he was still panting as the files opened onto his screen.

"Wait, where did you get that? Is anyone coming?" Michael demanded.

"No, I –it was just –not now, Michael." Birkhoff shook his head fiercely as his fingers flew across the keyboard. Files began to load and code streamed past the screen. Then it all disappeared and a single file remained for inspection. "This is what she wants." Birkhoff breathed, eyes wide.

"Who- what-?"

"Amanda. I –she snuck on me. But we came to a compromise. This black box? Its main file is on Operation Riverwood."

"Riverwood," Michael repeated with a frown. "Wait, what compromise?"

"Taking down Percy, mutual goals at the moment, blah blah blah," He left off the part about Michael's kill chip remote.

"So what's Operation Riverwood? I've never even heard of it." He crossed his arms.

"Oh, just information on every government screw up Division ever had to cover." Birkhoff said, eyes scanning down files as they appeared on the screen. A shadow of a smile appeared on his lips, "You know what this means?"

Michael glanced down and met his eyes, "Yeah."

ELSEWHERE:

Amanda reentered her office and established herself comfortably in her armchair. Arianya, who was lounging on a sofa nearby, reading a magazine and swigging a beer, looked up. "Everything ready to go?"

"It's all in place." Amanda said with a smug smile, "Now all we have to do is wait for the dominoes to fall."

…


End file.
